The Drama of Us Two
by LolaCherryColaGirl
Summary: Eames is a ladies man. Plural. He tried playing his part in the drama that was his relationship with Ariadne, but he failed her. Now he wants her back. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing from Inception.

**Summary: **Eames is a ladies man. Plural. He tried playing his part in the drama that was his relationship with Ariadne, but he failed her. Now he wants her back. Oneshot.

**Dedication: **I dedicate this oneshot to Illegitimi because she was the one to put an idea of an Eames/Ariadne fic in my head.

**The Drama Of Us Two**

Andrew Eames is cleaning his London flat. This is not something that occurs very often. Mostly because he hardly ever stays in it. Sometimes due to the fact that British authorities aren't particularly fond of him, but mostly because it reminds him too much of Ariadne.

They had kept in contact after the Inception was successfully performed; he had been worried about her, and after a suitable time had passed they had seen each other at the memorial Arthur discreetly put together for Cobb and Saito.

He never actually went around missing Arthur after they had been on a job together, and Yusuf mattered squat to him, but he had been startled by seeing Ariadne.

She, who was so small to begin with, had lost a considerable amount of weight and looked like she hadn't slept since Inception. She was pasty faced and her eyes had dark bags beneath them. Usually she was so bright and uplifting to be around, alive. But that day it may as well had been her memorial they were attending.

When Arthur had spoken of Cobb and they'd all shared a moment of peace for Saito, Eames had grabbed Arthur by his sleeve and naturally Ariadne stayed behind and chatted with Yusuf.

"What is wrong with Ariadne? She looks bloody horrible." he'd demanded to know, figuring Arthur would know, what with their chemistry.

But the Point Man had frowned at him "I haven't talked to her for months, except to invite her to this. And I didn't see her until she arrived, how would I know?"

Noticing that Ariadne and Yusuf made a move to join the two men, Eames bit his lip. How involved should he get in this? This was always something to consider about colleagues in their business.

They shared a cab back to airport, she still lived in Paris and Eames was going anywhere south where he could hide out for a while. Going stateside was always a risk. She hadn't spoken much to him, just managed a smile once in a while when their eyes met.

He asked her why she was so quiet, but she excused herself with the lame apology that it was because she said everything interesting in her latest letter to him. It had been at least a month and a half since he had last received one of her letters and that one had been the shortest yet with nothing but empty pleasantries.

That should have warned him that all was not right with her. Normally her letters put him in a good mood. She didn't treat him like most other women, didn't gaze adoringly at him or get tongue-tied by his sarcastic, witty way of talking.

She could give as good as she got and that made their flirty communication fun.

But he couldn't even find remnants of that in her brown eyes, almost black from sadness.

Before they parted ways in the airport he had grabbed her wrist in a tight hold. She looked at him as if he was terrifying, her entire body rigid, but still shivering with fear. Eames was surprised to find how much he cared for the young woman.

"Ariadne is something wrong?"

She had thrown her arms around him and started crying in devastation.

_I found your letters,_

_In a cardboard box beneath my bed,_

_I thought it would be better,_

_If I could just forget _

'_Cause I've been trying so hard,_

_To fall out of love with you,_

_I've played my part,_

_In the drama of us two_

Back in his flat Eames digs out a box beneath his bed and picks a random letter from the huge stack to read. Many times he considers, and wants to, burn the lot of them. But something holds him back.

He begins reading …

**Dear Andrew.**

**I am terribly sorry for throwing myself at you like I did in the airport. But as I explained, my guilt for letting Cobb behind had been tearing away at me for so long.**

**Still that was no excuse for kissing you. I understand if you just want to forget what happened between us that same night.**

**But even so you have to know how much it meant for me. It's like you brought me back to life.**

**Your friend,**

**Ariadne.**

Eames was many things, and he may not always treat a lady like she deserved, but he had not been able to abandon Ariadne after he'd held her tiny frame in his strong arms and she had cried against his jacket, soaking the spot her head rested on.

People around them just assumed they were lovers saying goodbye. He hadn't a clue how long they had been standing like that before she finally calmed down enough for him to lead her away from the staring audience.

Luckily there was a coffee place with a small, empty table at the back. He sat her down, ordered for both of them, dabbed her cheeks with a paper napkin and continued his consoling. It took question after question to finally get out of her what had ruined her spirits.

"Ariadne, listen to me," Eames had gotten down on one knee in the space in front of her chair and caught her hand in his large, calloused one before staring into those beautiful, tear filled eyes "you have nothing to be guilty about. Cobb would never have come back with you. You knew Saito was badly wounded, so badly it reached him in reality."

He moved his hands to cup her face, needing her to understand this "He would never have been able to honour his agreement with Cobb, who would've been thrown to prison as soon as we landed. At least wherever he is now, he has hope. It would've been cruel of you to take _that _away from him."

And that was as simple as it had happened, she had leaned forward a little, his hands still on her face, and caught his mouth in a kiss he wouldn't have think her able of, her young age considered.

Ariadne's lips had moved so deliciously against, their tongues duelling for control while her nails dug so deep into his upper arms they nearly drew blood. He didn't care, if this what was she needed, he would give it to her.

Aside from being a Forger, this was what he did best. In a sleazy motel near the airport their bodies had connected, his toned, muscular body cleansing her young, broken one. It didn't matter that the other occupants could hear them, that the linens smelled and the mattress squeaked.

He brought her salvation.

Afterwards they'd been lying next to each other, completely sated, Ariadne stroking his hands. She had kept on thanking him over and over again and Eames had been uncomfortable. To his understanding this would be the extend of their relationship.

But as she would later write to him, he had brought her back to life and he couldn't bear to crush her so soon after. So he neglected to tell her his point of view and they both caught later flights to each their part of the world.

Then he had received the letter and felt instant relief. He had already had several lovers since their encounter, but fearing for the moment when she would contact him again.

Eventually though, Ariadne's graduation came up and he found an invitation in his mail. That's when he discovered something that would later prove to be much too true; she was like a drug to him. He thought he could settle for that one time, that one taste.

So why did he go to the graduation?

Who knew. But go he did, and he could never regret it whenever he thought of the way she lit up when she'd seen him. Back to her old self she had flung herself around his neck and kissed both of his cheeks. They went out to celebrate and had a wonderful time until Eames found himself suggesting they got a room.

It had really just been in good fun, but Ariadne was willing and he couldn't resist one more fix.

"It's just this once, right Ariadne? I'm not exactly boyfriend material, luv."

She had agreed so quickly he'd almost been offended.

They ended up dating for three years, eventually shifting between living in Paris and London. He got honest work and enjoyed the challenge of staying monogamous. At first it had been fun, he quickly found himself in love with Ariadne.

And it was exciting to try this sort of dependence with another person.

But he discovered he was acting like someone else towards the end of their relationship. The nine to five job, the way each day seemed to feel like the same got to him, suffocated him, scared him off.

_Now you're songs are on repeat,_

_Playing on my radio,_

_I'm swaying in my seat,_

_Missing you terribly, oh_

'_Cause I've been trying so hard,_

_To fall out of love with you,_

_I've played my part,_

_In the drama of us two_

Needless to say he had been the one to destroy their relationship. And now he pays for it, sitting alone in the space that had once been theirs, listening to her crazy, French music and swelling in memories.

"We are not an epic love story." She had told him that on the night of their one-year anniversary.

He had been confused, and asked her what she meant. In his mind there were no greater couple than the two of them, he especially believed it on this night and wanted to know why she had ruined the mood.

Eames could still remember exactly how her face had looked behind the flickering light from those candles.

"Romeo and Juliet had warring families," she got misty-eyed "Cobb and Mal are a unique story all together, me and Arthur would've been such a perfect couple it's nauseating." she continued on, ignoring the face Eames pulled at the mention of Arthur's name.

"But you and me, we argue nearly every day. We don't have the same taste in music or movies or anything like that. Neither one of us have a clue how to comprise." while she talked, she had walked around the dining room table and sat herself on his lap "You and me are ordinary."

He didn't understand why it pleased her so much. It was a terrible, intimidating thought for him to comprehend. In fact if she hadn't unbuttoned his shirt and kept on undressing him before herself he might have bolted already then.

Maybe that's what he'd done by going out the next day and snooping up a job more suited to his talents, before even discussing it with Ariadne. His father had worked himself nearly to death at a plant only to end up as a drunk after having an accident that rendered him unable to work.

His mother was illiterate and had never had any job besides staying at home with the children and servicing his father, even when he was so deep in his addiction he felt more strongly about the alcohol than her.

Eames would be anything but ordinary.

Once Ariadne had found out that he was involved in something illegal again she had thrown a plate into the wall Eames was leaning against right now and fled the apartment. Several days later, he received a letter from Paris, telling him they were over for good.

But it only lasted a week. One night after the job was over he came home to find her sitting on the couch, like she had never left.

Eames never apologized or admitted to having missed her, which she so willingly told him. But the truth was he craved her as much as his father had craved the alcohol.

Despite all the woe that letter she had sent had brought them, he actually still has it. He is folding it into neat little squares, over and over again. But he doesn't open it, like the first one, to read it again. In that letter she made some accusations that were wildly out of line. At that time. But considering what he later did to her, he actually deserved a lot worse.

_I can't believe I let you go,_

_I should say sorry to you,_

_But I always told you no,_

_Whenever you asked me to_

It mostly happened because of that stupid pregnancy test.

If she could've just waited like he'd asked her to, instead of rushing to the nearest pharmacy and getting her hopes up while throwing him into a turmoil of panicked emotions. He was no where near ready to be a father. Couldn't even picture it in his head.

Eames had never felt worse than when they sat together on the bed, hands clasped tight together, while she prayed for a child and he pretended to do the same, but really he talked to God for the first time since his parents forced him to church in his childhood, begging the test to turn out negative.

It did.

But the saying 'Careful what you wish for' had never been more true, because now he was dealing with Ariadne's devastation and it was possibly even worse than that time in the very first stage of their relationship, so long ago in a foreign airport.

She cried, screamed, broke more of his plates and slammed doors. Eames threw all of his energy into making her feel better, praying she wouldn't notice how he hadn't reacted the same way.

At that point he didn't know she would end up figuring it out anyway.

To him that was really when all masks came off and he realized the two of them were on completely different paths, not even able to meet in a middle. He just couldn't be who she wanted him to be, who he had led her to believe he was.

Some night later Ariadne was visiting a friend, getting some female support to what she was going through. And that's when he did it. Broke free of the addiction, destroyed their world.

There was a pub right around the corner from his apartment and he hadn't been sitting alone with his pint for long when a beautiful woman came to join him at his table. He knew he was skilful in the art of flirting and easily got her interested, bought her more drinks and before the night was through they were kissing.

He closed his eyes, he didn't want to see her blonde hair instead of brown, green eyes instead of the usual sparkling hazel ones that met his gaze.

To further piss on Ariadne and everything she thought they'd had together he brought the anonymous woman back to their bed and broke all rules by taking her there. They were still in the middle of his cheating act when Ariadne came home and saw them.

Eames gets up from the spot on the floor he's been sitting on while going through the letters. He still get's restless, terribly embarrassed, and lately sad when he remembers the way she'd looked when she realized the masquerade was over.

He can still clearly envision the several more broken plates, he can hear the French swear words, feel the palm of her hand on his cheek after she'd slapped him to get rid of all that emotion. He recalls the sound of her suitcase being dragged out the door as if it was yesterday and not almost two years ago.

After she had calmed down she had written him, wanting to work things out, if he would just explain and apologize.

But he couldn't even give her that.

He thought he went back to being his old self. He had multiple girlfriends, seedy jobs, moved around the world, always looking for the next flirt or drink. But he no longer got the same satisfaction out of it.

And now he can see it. Maybe it was too fast for him back then, but the relationship has changed him. For the better even. The reason his lifestyle seems so hollow is because he really does care for Ariadne. He never fell out of love. He _needs _her.

Frantically opening every drawer he finally finds typical postcard of red, British phone booth. On the back he writes "I'm sorry" and the address she had lived at back then.

Maybe the curtain hasn't dropped for the last time in their act.

_And even though I've tried so hard,_

_To fall out of love with you,_

_Maybe there's a new part,_

_To the drama of us two_

**A/N: **I know a lot of fans are probably going to dislike this because Eames is not his usual, chipper self, but just writing the Eames/Ariadne pairing was a challenge for me so I might as well go all the way and write the serious side of him. This probably doesn't qualify completely as a songfic, because the lyrics are written by me a couple of years ago and there's actually no music to them. But I felt they fitted my idea of this couple very well. Please leave a review, even if it's just to say you hated it.

**X X X LolaCherryColaGirl**


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